


We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off (To Have a Good Time)

by lornrocks



Category: Fandom: Heroes
Genre: M/M, Nakedness, Sexy Times, Sexytimes, Voyeurism, anyway, dirtywords, kitchentablesex, miloventimigliaissuperfine, mutualmasturbation, petlar, promptfest, pylar, soiszach, these tags are silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornrocks/pseuds/lornrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this: <i>Post Brave New World. Sylar moves in with Peter. He never expected Peter to walk around the apartment openly naked. Turns out, Peter never wears clothes in his own home. He tells Sylar to feel free to do the same.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off (To Have a Good Time)

It started out minor. Peter would walk around shirtless. Not a big deal, because Peter Petrelli is the type of person who, A. Doesn't care what people think and B. Doesn't really need a shirt anyway (cause damn).

But then a few weeks into them living together, Peter stops wearing pants, too. So then he's just walking around in his well-fitting, completely fucking sexy underwear. Some days it'll be something cute, like red briefs with the Flash's logo on the front. Other days it'll be his size-too small boxers, plaid and worn from use. But the worst days were the days Peter wore his skin tight, black boxer briefs which hug his every curve (not that Peter has curves, but whatever).

Sylar takes to looking at Peter's face, and only Peter's face. He already feels guilty enough as it is, and he most certainly does NOT need to make things more awkward by ogling his new roommate.

One morning, one glorious morning, Sylar crawls off of the air mattress he's been sleeping on, trudges into the kitchen, and spots Peter holding the door open, peering into the fridge. Judging by what Sylar can see that's not blocked by the door, Peter is still remarkably mostly naked.

Peter shuts the door and Sylar actually gapes.

Scratch that, Peter IS naked.

Flushing red, he immediately looks up at the ceiling.

"Good morning to you, too," Sylar mumbles, clearly not sure how to handle the situation, and Peter shoots him a weird look (well, Sylar assumes, he's still looking at the ceiling) and heads over to the coffee maker, setting a cup underneath it and turning it on.

"Good morning. How'd you sleep?"

For a long, long moment, the only sound in the room is the coffee machine slowly whirring to life and the usual white noise of New York traffic. After a minute, Sylar walks carefully forward until he's leaning against the counter, next to Peter, and makes sure he can make eye contact- and only eye contact.

"If I may ask, Peter, but why the fuck are you naked at seven thirty in the morning? In your kitchen?"

The medic's response is laced with amusement, and Sylar feels a twine inwardly at the way Peter quirks just his left eyebrow up, a perfect arch.

"I never wear clothes in my apartment. I mean, it's my apartment. I can do what I want. Does it bother you?"

 _Not at all_ , Sylar wants to say, but he figures he'll come off sounding creepy. So he just shrugs as casually as he can manage.

"It's just different, that's all. I'll get used to it."

Peter regards him for a moment, as if trying to decide something, before he quirks his eyebrow one last time and grabs his cup of coffee.

"You could too, if you want. I wouldn't mind."

Sylar wants to take Peter up on the offer, but only if the two of them both being naked in the same room at the same time entails that they fuck on the kitchen table, too.

So he just says he'll think about it and quickly disappears into the bathroom to take a shower. A very, very cold shower.

So a few more agonizing weeks go by, and Peter is still just as naked as ever, and carefully, gradually, Sylar starts to shed his clothes, too, until eventually they're sitting in the living room one evening, Peter starkers as always, reading an entertainment magazine and Sylar is wearing just a snug pair of boxers and seeing how fast he can solve the sudoku in the paper.

There's a knock at the door, and Peter casts a look at the other man before disappearing into his room and shutting the door. Sylar gets up and answers it, and is surprised to find Noah Bennett, eyebrow clearly raised above his glasses.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed anything, uh, intimate," he begins, and Sylar holds up a hand.

"It's nothing like that."

Peter takes the opportunity to emerge from his room in just low-hanging pajama pants and Noah's eyebrows hike even higher up his forehead.

"Well, whatever you call it, I'm here with a message from Claire."

He and Peter disappear into the kitchen to talk while Sylar waits in the living room, feeling a tad bit chilly and super, super awkward. Peter comes out, brandishing his cell phone, talking to Claire about getting lunch or something, and Noah comes over to stand by the sofa.

"Noah," Sylar tries to say, but Bennett just smiles in that all-knowing way of his.

"Are you trying to tell me that you two are living together, walk around half naked and are NOT fooling around?"

Sylar does not pout, because Sylar is incapable of such an immature facial expression, but he rolls his eyes and does his best glare in the older man's direction.

"We're not. End of story."

"Hmm."

Bennett's reply is maddeningly vague and for a minute, Sylar wonders if he should demand that he tells him what he's thinking, but then Peter is coming into the room and apologizing for leaving them alone. Noah bids them goodbye and leaves, casting one last smirk in Sylar's direction, and Sylar makes a mental note to never speak to him again out of fear that he'll relapse long enough to punch him in the face.

But maybe Noah had a point? They settle back into the living room, still sort of clothed, and while Peter reads, Sylar can't help but look. Everything about Peter, he decides, is gorgeous. The curve of his neck as he leans his head down to read; The way his hipbones are poking over the top of his pajama pants; Even the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes.

Maybe a little too late, Sylar kicks himself for not seeing it sooner. He wanted Peter, worse than he thought before, and he just knows that if he lets himself look at Peter again when he's walking around naked the next time, he'll probably embarrass himself. So he doesn't. The next couple days, he makes sure to look everywhere BUT at Peter, even going so far as to try and switch up his sleep schedule so that he wouldn't be awake when Peter was.

It didn't work, though, because even though he couldn't see Peter, he could still imagine what he must look like, and one particular night, he's sprawled across his air mattress, which resides in a little corner of the living room, and stares at the ceiling. The French doors that lead to Peter's room are open, but the lights are off. He hears a creaking noise and immediately pretends to be asleep. A second later, Peter is walking out of his bedroom, across the living room, and into the kitchen. Peter flicks the light above the stove on and a dim glow leaks from the doorway. From the place he's at, Sylar can just make out the kitchen table.

He hears water running and a second later Peter is over by the table, leaning against it, drinking from a tall glass. The part that gets to him the most, though, is the way Peter is just standing there, completely naked, but not at all caring. He's probably even more gorgeous than Sylar imagined, and now that he's seen it, he wants it all.

Peter disappears back out of sight, and Sylar hears a glass being put into the sink, and then the light is flicked off, and Peter is walking back to his room. Sylar closes his eyes, pretends to be asleep, even though he desperately wants to tug up his blanket to cover himself up.

Once he hears Peter lay back down, Sylar can't help but groan inwardly. Peter was driving him crazy and he probably had no idea what he was doing to the other man. If there was injustice in the world, that was probably the worst kind.

For a brief second, he debates sliding his hand underneath the blanket and pretending it's someone else entirely, but then a sound interrupts him.

It's very, very minute, and he probably only picked up on it because of his enhanced hearing, but it's there all the same. He can hear Peter's heartbeat, speeding up, and the way his breath is coming out in little gasps, and he can hear the none too subtle sound of skin sliding against skin.

A small "Oh," escapes Peter's mouth before he quickly covers it up, probably biting his lip to muffle the sound, and Gabriel suddenly feels a lot less guilty for what he was thinking a second earlier.

He pulls the blanket off of him and lifts his hips, shoving his boxers down and off, then tentatively wraps his fingers around himself, inhaling sharply at the sensation. He listens to the rhythm of Peter's hand as he jerks himself, and quickly picks up his own pace to match it.

Peter lets out another sound, this time, a choked off version of the word "fuck", and Sylar pumps his hand faster, letting his hips buck upwards. It all feels so good, and he forgets where he is for a moment before he answers with a hushed, "Peter," and then he remembers that Peter's door is still open.

Peter stops moving and there is silence. Then, slowly, the noises start up again and Peter lets out a keening moan, something that sounds an awful lot like Sylar's name, and Sylar takes that as his cue to continue where he left off, letting Peter's voice carry him through his orgasm. A second later, Peter follows suit, and then, there's quiet.

Sylar wonders if he should go in there or say something but he doesn't, and ends up falling asleep. He thinks, upon waking, that he should say something, but neither of them do, and they end up doing it again later that night. Almost every night for a week and a half they do this, until one morning Peter is leaning against the counter, staring at the coffee machine. Sylar walks in, having not even bothered getting dressed, and Peter is just as naked as ever. Sylar stares and flushes as he remembers the night before.

He's tired of this shit.

He grabs Peter, turns him around, and kisses him completely and ardently full on the mouth. instead of getting pushed away and punched like he completely expected, Peter is scrambling his hands around his body, trying to find something to hold on to and settling for one arm around the other mans neck and the other tangled in his hair.

The height difference is kind of a problem, though, and Sylar feels guilty when he realizes that Peter's hips are moving but there's nothing for him to rub against. Sylar manhandles Peter over to the table and the empath gets the hint, moving to sit on the edge of it and spreading his legs invitingly.

They end up fucking on the table after all, and Peter is coming apart on the table top right under Sylar's eyes, and he can't stop staring. Peter opens his eyes and gazes up at him, eyes hooded and biting his lip, and he reaches a hand over and takes his cock in hand, moving it in rhythm with their bodies.

"You're so fucking hot, God," he mumbles, and adds, "I can't stand it."

He jerks his hand a few more times, arches his back, and babbles, "Oh, fuck, baby, harder...I- oh, God, make me come, _please_ ," and Sylar slams into him hard once and Peter's whole body stills as he comes.

"Jesus," Sylar breathes, letting Peter's orgasm force him into following, and he stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

Then they're both laughing, softly, at how fucking ridiculous they've been this whole time.

"If you want," Peter says, sitting up, "You can sleep in my bed with me from now on."

Sylar responds with a kiss and wonders how long it's going to take before they're up for round two. They have a lot of catching up to do, after all.

(The next time Noah Bennett stops by, he takes one look at Sylar's messed hair and the flush across Peter's chest and promptly turns back around, muttering, "I knew it." They don't seem him again for a few weeks after that. It's probably for the best.)

**Author's Note:**

> Written a long time ago for LJ.


End file.
